A Knut For Your Thoughts
by miss-canteloupe
Summary: The end of the year leaves Harry with more nerve than usual. HPSS oneshot


_Sir,_

_I've just spent half an hour trying to figure out where to start with this, and that's after the other hour it took wondering what to call you. You aren't exactly my Professor anymore – you haven't been for the last forty-six hours. And somehow, I get the feeling you'd wring my neck before I even think about calling you by anything other than your surname. 'Respect your superiors, Potter'… I think I was in my sixth year when you first told me that._

_I guess it doesn't really matter when you'll be hurling this into the fire as soon as you discover it's written by Harry bloody Potter. The bane of your existence. The Boy-Who-Failed-to-Die. I don't blame you, really, and I doubt you'll accept an apology for wasting your time. Might as well take a chance, right? That's what Gryffindors do, after all. They take chances… I wouldn't be much of one if I didn't._

_It's kind of funny, you know, when I wonder how things would've been different if I had been sorted somewhere else. I know what you're thinking, sir. Impossible, huh? Just like my father – a Gryffindor through and through. And, as you like to add, an insolent, attention-seeking brat with no regards to anyone other than myself._

_But you're wrong. Did Dumbledore ever tell you I should've been in your house? I suppose he didn't. I mean, it's not something you would deem likely when referring to the son of James Potter, but then again, I lost count of how many times I've told you I'm not him. _

_I literally had to beg the sorting hat not to put me in Slytherin - the only reason you didn't have to suffer as my Head of House. I was young and naïve, and for all it's worth, Malfoy was a git. Still is, but it's been a week since I've wanted to hex him off the Astronomy tower. I'm happy to say it's a new record._

_Now that I think about it, though, the idea of being a bloody snake isn't as terrible as it was back in the good old days. Not that I'd be stupid enough to regret my choice, mind you. Ron would probably have a heart attack if he ever found out, then rise from the dead and knock me out with his Potions book. But you've got to admit, it's a mind-blowing thought. Because who knows? The two of us could've ended up being friends._

_Anyway, if you're done snorting over the notion, I assume you're still reading this. For that, I applause you. Who would've thought the great Severus Snape would be reading a letter by the insufferable Golden Boy? And as for what the hell my point is, well… let's just say this is my way of saying goodbye. I'm not going to compliment you on your god-awful teaching skills and brag about just how much I learned. I'm not going on about the seven years of pure hell I had to go through all because of your sunny personality. And I won't drone about what a complete bastard you truly are._

_Instead, I'll be cluing you in on my life. _

_Stop with the 'typical Potter' shite. You may see past the whole 'savior of the wizarding world' façade, but you know __nothing__ about the real me. You never were able to get over what my dad did to you, were you? So you decide to release all your hatred on me when all I ever did was exist?_

_Well, guess what? I was never the spoiled brat you always thought I was, and I had hoped after slicing through my mind fifth year, you'd realize that. _

_I lived in a cupboard for ten years. _

_Shocking, isn't it? _

_The one under the stairs… it was basically my real home, considering I was only let out to use the bathroom two times a day, and that was after I was able to please them with my duties as a house elf. After that, I was moved into my cousin's second bedroom once I received my Hogwarts letter. You can probably guess why._

_Only Ron and Hermione know this bit about my home life. Of course, I couldn't possibly worry them over the times the Dursleys would starve me for two, three, maybe even four days on end. I didn't tell them that. They only suspected it, considering it's a bit difficult to hide your weight with magic. The bruises were easy, though. I learned how to cast a glamour the summer before my second year, when the beatings became worse. Couldn't have a freak stay unpunished, now, could we?_

_Now that you're the lucky third person to know, might as well get on with the confessions. It's not like you can take off points or greet me with your lovely presence, in any case. Do you remember in my second year, sir, when those cauldrons blew up and you discovered several ingredients missing? Well, that was me. Or us, really. We needed to make a Polyjuice Potion, you see, so we could sneak into the Slytherin common room and confirm that Malfoy was the heir of Slytherin. Needless to say, it wasn't an entirely worthless attempt._

_We used a time turner to save Sirius back in my third year, then escaped on top of Hagrid's hippogriff, Buckbeak. I doubt Dumbledore was able to tell you the whole story, so here it is._

_All those late night disturbances in the restriction section? Yeah, those were probably me. My invisibility cloak has its fair uses. Sneaking into Hogsmeade without permission? There's a secret passageway that leads to the basement of Honeydukes, not to mention the one planted underneath the Whomping Willow. That one tends to be unused._

_Dumbledore's Army? Umbridge's downfall? Giant tarantulas? Stolen Dreamless Sleep potions? Brings back some memories, doesn't it? I'm quite aware I've broken nearly every school rule written these seven years, and despite my justification in doing so, you seethe with loathing. No matter what I say, do, or try to become, you will always be repulsed by the mere thought of me._

_Don't worry. The feeling's mutual._

_Before I finish and we can both go on with our lives, I just want you to know that I hate you. I hate your greasy hair and your huge, hooked nose. I hate your sallow skin. Your crooked yellow teeth. I hate that bloody scowl you always have on your bloody face. And those damn eyes and those potion-stained hands and that damn sexy voice and – and for fuck's sake, Snape!_

_I hate the fact that I. Can't. Have. You._

_Okay. So I admit it. Now I hope you flourish with satisfaction, you git. I don't know when, or how, or why, but sometime during the course of the year, I discovered what it really means to have my life go from bad to worse. Maybe it was the dreams, or the realization that you could be something other than a greasy bastard… with actual, _human_ emotions. Either way, fancying you was never something I thought possible, yet here it is._

_You know that saying, 'There's a thin line between love and hate?'_

_Yeah, well, it's true. Or at least in my case. Merlin knows how long I've tried to get you out of my thoughts, and if wanting to slam you against your desk and snog you senseless has nothing to go by, then I don't know what does._

_So, I guess that's it, then. No strings attached. I'm not expecting you to suddenly come up with an epiphany and announce your undying love for me, even though that doesn't sound so unpleasant… I just thought maybe, you know, we could end the hostilities right here. _

_It's not like we'll be seeing each other again, anyway. Nothing to lose. I'm sure you heard the rumors, and for the second time today, I'm verifying them. Yes, I'll be leaving Britain once I make it to London. And no, I'm not planning on coming back any time soon. _

_I do wish you well, and I hope you find what you're looking for… and all that other crap you say in farewell letters. Love letters. Hate letters. Whatever this is. It really bugs me to think you'll be the one I miss the most._

_Goodbye, sir. _

_H.P._

Harry was the last in the dormitory to pack the rest of his belongings. There wasn't much, as he only needed the things he couldn't bear without, though that didn't quite excuse him for waiting until morning to pull himself together.

"Comin', Harry?" a voice said from the doorway. Ron, like the rest of the Gryffindor boys, had long been packed and ready for departure. The only thing stopping him from scrambling to Hogsmeade station was his disheveled best friend.

"Go on without me, Ron," Harry told him. "I'll be there in a bit."

"You sure? No offence, mate, but you always disappear on me when you say that."

With a hesitant chuckle, he threw a pillow at the grinning redhead. "I promise I'll be a good little boy. Now go."

Once Harry was alone again, he didn't bother quickening his pace with only thirty minutes left to spare. He was meticulous when it came to his possessions, putting aside one pile that he would keep with him and another he would throw away before leaving. Alone.

And that struck Harry hard, knowing he hadn't told his two best friends of his plans. He wasn't going to be joining them on the train as a final Hogwarts experience, nor was he meeting up with them for the last time on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. And although every ounce of blood in Harry's veins was compelling him to run out there and force them to bind him to one or the other, he was sticking with the muggle way.

With a flick of his wand, all of Harry's old quills, assignments, textbooks, and even his school robes vanished in thin air. He couldn't bring himself to do the same with his broom, which he shrunk and was now safely tucked in his pocket along with his invisibility cloak. What was left remained in his backpack.

But before he could stand and take one final look at what he used to call home, a creak from the stairwell tore him from his reverie. Harry felt himself tense at the prickling sensation of someone watching him.

"I thought I told you not to wait for me," Harry insisted, growing slightly irritated at Ron for not following the simplest of directions.

"I can assure you have done nothing of the sort."

Harry blinked, then allowed the realization to settle in that _that_, in fact, was not the way a Weasley spoke. And that _definitely _was not Ron's voice.

Grimly, Harry turned around and, just as he suspected, found the Potions Master leaning against the doorway, arms crossed and the typical scowl plastered on his face.

"I'm sorry, Professor," Harry said, unconsciously using the title out of habit. "I thought you were Ron."

"Indeed," Snape drawled, though his attention was not on Harry or his words. "Going somewhere, Mr. Potter?"

Harry, momentarily distracted by the rapid beating of his heart, pushed his bag aside with his foot and silently prayed the man was here to pass on a message from Dumbledore.

Harry shrugged. "Just packing. Is there something you wanted, sir?"

He could have smacked himself right then with the way his voice wavered, proving just how nervous the teenager was. It certainly didn't help any to feel the heat of Snape's gaze burning into his skull, as if examining a test tube or a potion of some sort.

"Believe it or not, Potter, I have not come here for a social visit," Snape claimed. Harry nearly snorted. "I trust that empty head of yours may supply you with an additional motive for my presence."

Harry eyed him cautiously. "Pardon?"

But Snape ignored him. "As you may very well know, I tend to keep my possessions in order as to avoid clutter. All my documents are stored in a specific cabinet before departing every evening. So," he continued, lazily, as he reached into his pocket. "Imagine my surprise when I discovered a spare piece of parchment lying carelessly on top of my desk – a desk that was vacant the night before."

Harry immediately looked away as soon as he recognized his handwriting on the letter Snape wasn't supposed to find until _after _Harry had left. If it weren't for the bed he was leaning on, Harry was sure he'd have fallen to his knees by now.

"Care to explain?"

Harry kept his eyes to the ground. "I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

And it seemed to be the wrong answer to give as Harry found himself gripped tightly and face to face with a very angry Snape. Harry was reminded of the time he was caught looking into the man's pensieve two years ago, and that memory alone scared him more than the image before him.

"Do you find this amusing, Potter?" Snape snarled. "Did you truly believe you could avoid the consequences simply because you are no longer a student?"

Harry gaped, bemused. "Wait, what are you –"

"SILENCE!" Snape roared and shook him violently. "Who else has helped you with this nonsense? The rest of your little Gryffindor fiends? Granger? Weasley? Answer me, Potter!"

"It isn't a joke," Harry said coldly, shrugging off Snape's grasp. He was certain he could feel fingerprints imprinted around his shoulder blades.

"You are lying."

"Don't believe it then. I don't care," Harry seethed, quickly grabbing his bag. He couldn't stand it. Any longer and he might just show his former professor how his words were really affecting him.

But instead of rushing past the older man like he intended to do, Harry felt a resistance, and realized Snape had taken hold of his wrist.

"You have yet to answer, Potter."

"What? A knut for my thoughts, then?" Harry snapped back.

"Hm... cheeky," uttered Snape, clearly not impressed. He released Harry's arm. "I want the truth."

Harry, after biting his own tongue far more roughly than necessary, could taste the coppery flavor of his blood slide down his throat. He needed the patience, otherwise it would add fuel to the imminent explosion.

"Like I said before, this isn't a prank," Harry bit out. "Everything stated in the letter is true. I _like _you, alright? Despite you being the evil bat of the dungeons, I've somehow developed feelings for you. And no, they're not teenage hormones going rabid. I think I'm mature enough to know where my emotions lie. Happy now?"

"Of course not, you idiot boy," Snape replied, though a smirk was tugging at his lips. Harry watched with nervous apprehension as the man, now deep in thought, began pacing.

"You always were an incompetent fool. You know that, Potter?" Snape began with venom. "It appears that seven years of magical education has done nothing to alter such stupidity, nor has it taught you the importance of thinking, not that you have the ability to do so. Instead, you carelessly run off without any consideration to the others around you and thrive on your hero complex. Strut around as though all kneel before you. Take full pleasure in the attention you receive. You are… pathetic, Potter. A wretched brat and a nuisance to have known. How I utterly _loathe_ you."

Harry wasn't quite sure what it was – a painful tug in his chest, wrenching and, like a disease, spreading to his constricting throat. That was when his eyes betrayed him, threatening to shed tears that he dared not spill in front someone who not only humiliated him, but hurt him beyond repair.

"Are you done yet?" Harry murmured, not trusting his voice. "Because if you don't mind, I'd like to take my leave now. _Sir_."

Snape merely raised an eyebrow. "You may call me Severus," he said.

And before Harry could display any form of astonishment, he was yanked forward and pulled into a kiss.


End file.
